


Change Me

by Filmsterr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bad dates, Dean is a Sweetheart, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jock Dean, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nerd Castiel, Self-Esteem Issues, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 02:12:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11221131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filmsterr/pseuds/Filmsterr
Summary: "To say that Dean was out of Castiel's league was like saying that the Millennium Falcon waskind of fastfor a spaceship. It was a vast understatement, didn't even come close to covering the gap between the two of them.But here he was anyway: he’d been given a shot, a chance, against all odds-- and he was going to give it his best shot."--------The first time Dean tried to take him on a date, the evening ended in bloodshed.The second time, vomit.Castiel is hesitant to see what their third attempt will bring them.





	Change Me

By all logical assumptions, they never should have even crossed paths. They shouldn't have met at all. 

Castiel, being quiet and bookish and more interested in poetry readings than sporting competitions, didn't really run in the same crowd as people like Dean.

"People like Dean" being people who were: cool, confident, outgoing, affable, athletic, talented, easy-going or anything thereabouts. 

And yet, they did. Meet, that is. Remarkably, Dean had a few nerdy traits himself, and actually liked to read, despite all stereotypes indicating otherwise. He shared a lab table in O-Chem with Charlie, who was on the board of the university newspaper with Castiel. She introduced the two of them in the dining hall one day and, well... something clicked. 

Or, at least, it seemed like it did. Castiel found himself walking away from the meeting with a warm feeling in his chest and a grin on his face. And as he sat tucked away in the library nearly til closing time that night, still he couldn't wipe the persistent smile off his face. 

And then Charlie told him that Dean had asked about him. What "his deal" was. 

Specifically, was he seeing anyone at the moment, and what kinds of people was he normally interested in. Castiel tried to keep a cool demeanor, at least wait five seconds or so before he leapt over the study table to tell her whatever she needed to hear. The incessant shaking of his leg, however, conspired to give him away from the very start. 

And then, shock of all shocks, it happened. Right there in the dining hall on the north campus, Dean asked him out on a date. In front of everyone. And he was blushing. 

Cas had to summon all the strength he could to murmur an affirmative answer through the paralyzation he felt in his facial muscles. 

They exchanged numbers and Dean smiled so brilliantly at Castiel when he walked away that Cas knew it was his new mission in life to try and see that smile as often as possible. 

For a few days, they texted one another just to talk about random things. Dean would go off about a book series he was reading, or Castiel might air out a gripe he was having with one of his professors. 

On Friday afternoon, a text rolled in to Castiel's phone and he lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw that it was from Dean. The other boy had been teasing him all week, dropping hints that Friday would be the day that he'd finally reveal his plan for their outing that weekend. 

And here it was. Today was the day. And the big plan, their first date was going to be.... 

the batting cages. 

The batting cages? 

Castiel, sheltered child that he was, had to do a quick internet search to find out what exactly that meant. When the first images sprang up on Google, the beating in his chest settled somewhat. 

He recognized these structures from films and TV shows. He had a basic understanding of how they worked. Maybe he wasn't the most naturally gifted athlete... But it was a contained space. How wrong could things go?

Oh, how he would come to regret that question.  

Dean picked him up outside his dorm the following afternoon around 2, and they walked together towards the sports complex on campus. A few times, Castiel felt the presence of Dean’s hand near his, and just the act of sharing space made him feel heady and buzzed. 

To say that Dean was out of Castiel's league was like saying that the Millennium Falcon was _kind of_ fast for a spaceship. It was a vast understatement, didn't even come close to covering the gap between the two of them. 

But here he was anyway: he’d been given a shot, a chance, against all odds-- and he was going to give it his best shot. 

Dean promised that after their trip to the cages, he'd take Cas out for an ice cream cone. It sounded utterly saccharine as a date idea, too sweet for Cas to handle. 

He couldn't wait.  

Unfortunately, their lovely Saturday afternoon date turned out exactly as Castiel had predicted it would. 

When he got in the cage and the balls started flying at him, he froze. Let ball after ball whiz by him, only looking at Dean in a mask of sheer horror. Laughing, the more experienced boy sauntered in to his rescue, wrapping his strong arms around Cas' waist and lining their hips together. 

It was a picture perfect date moment. Adorable and romantic. 

And then came a loud pop and Cas jumped in surprise-- right into the line of fire. 

The ball clocked him right in the mouth, going almost 30 miles an hour. There was blood everywhere, running down his face and beginning to soak into his t-shirt. He was mortified.  

Dean looked like guilt given human form. He apologized over and over again, meanwhile all Cas could do was stare up at him, close-lipped and helpless. 

"Do you... still wanna go for ice cream?" Dean asked, every word dropping awkwardness, as they walked away from the school’s medical center.  

Cas quirked his lips into a depressing half-smile. "I, um, think I'm in a but too much pain for that."

Dean nodded sadly and agreed to walk him back to his dorm. All Cas had wanted from today was the chance for one short, tender kiss from Dean's lips. Now, holding an ice pack to his split lip, he didn't even stand a chance. It was the worst disappointment he could remembering experiencing since he'd come to college. 

He was sure that it was all over with now. Dean would have realized by now what a dud Cas was, and that he was better of with some pretty young thing from the cheerleading squad, or the soccer team. Someone more in his wheelhouse. And Cas would live out his days as a hermit, in the style of Emily Dickinson: lonely and depressed, holed up writing poetry about his one great missed opportunity for love.

(He did recognize the possibility that this scenario was a tad on the dramatic side…. but, he was nineteen years old. Give him a break.)

But, then… some how, some way Dean actually asked him out again. On purpose. Even after he'd bungled their first date beyond recognition of anything romantic whatsoever. 

Castiel leapt at the chance for redemption, eager to make sure that this time, their encounter would end with a kiss.  

This time, Dean wanted to take Castiel to watch a game that the college football team was playing in. Apparently Dean had a lot of friends on the team and he'd promised them he'd make a show, and he wanted to know if Cas could "be his arm candy" as he so elegantly put it.

Watching sports, young Castiel surmised to himself, was much easier than partaking in them. Less dangerous, too. He could see no way that this date would end in bloody disaster. 

Which… well, there wasn’t any blood. But…. 

It was true, there was less physical exertion in the act of spectating; but there were still parts of the attending experience that didn't sit so well with him. 

Like shot-gunning beers, for example. 

Dean had smiled at him so wide when he handed the split can of beer to Castiel. Like he was letting him in on some cherished ritual, something scared. Castiel couldn't help but to accept. 

And then, during half time, after a few more beers (and a tentative set of fingers entwining with his own), it happened. They were climbing the stairs after going to get pretzels and _sploosh_.  

It wasn't pretty. Castiel had hoped that Dean would _never_ see him vomit, and certainly not on their second ever date together. He didn’t even know when he’d started to feel ill. It was probably sometime around the fourth beer that he had downed nervously in a matter of seconds. It had just seemed like the best thing to do at the time: Dean was throwing back cans like he had a sponsorship deal from Budweiser, and keeping up was the only way Castiel could feel comfortable. 

Again, Dean apologized profusely, turning over and spouting off an earnest “I’m really, really sorry” about every two minutes the whole time he walked Cas home cordially to his dorm building. And again, not a goodnight kiss to be had. Just an exchange of sad hands waving goodbye. 

Castiel sighed deeply as he watched Dean fading out of sight. He could not believe that the universe had somehow granted him not one, but _two_ chances, with someone so far out of his league that… that…. that it was like they weren’t even playing the same game (which of course, they couldn’t be, since it was now certified fact that Castiel should not be allowed to participate in any type of sporting event ever). 

And he’d blown both of them. Royally.  

He was more than a little surprised when Dean texted him a week later asking for one more chance to show him a good time. It seemed statistically impossible that Dean could still possibly be interested in him-- in any respect, not even just romantic. He should have been utterly repulsed by the idea of spending with Castiel. 

But, for whatever reason, Cas agreed to give it one final try. There seemed to be a sort of implicit understand that if this last attempt ended in blood or tears, that maybe it was time to call the whole thing off. 

So, he arrived at the sports complex, all on his own this time. He was wearing sweatpants and sneakers, as instructed. He stood around awkwardly, wondering if everyone else milling around there could see how out of place he was, how much he didn’t belong.  

He was shaken out of this by a voice rising up right behind him.  

“Hi, Cas.” 

When he turned around, he found not just Dean but an assorted crew of others. Dean was staring down at him, eyes slightly out of focus. For a fleeting second, Cas thought (and hoped) that maybe Dean would kiss him right then and there. But instead he shook his head and breathed out loudly. 

“Sorry, these are my buddies. I told them we were gonna be here and they wanted to come with and meet you…” He was overcome suddenly with a face full of embarrassment, “I’m sorry. Do you want me to make ‘em leave? I’ll just go ahead and make ‘em leave.”

Castiel raised a hand to stop him. “No, that’s alright. I… I’d enjoy meeting your friends.” And then Dean smiled at him in that way he had in the cafeteria that afternoon, and Cas couldn’t help but feel anything other than blindingly optimistic. 

The plan had been for some low key puttering around a soccer field in order to cure Castiel of his enduring fear of athletics. Dean would tease him and poke him, and it would all be good fun. What it turned into, however, was something much different. 

Dean’s friends were great on the field, and they were competitive. They moved quickly, passed the ball between them and danced around each other. It was intimidating. Every so often, Dean would find Castiel and check in on him, offering a dazzling smile and some words of encouragement. 

“You holding up alright, handsome?” he asked once during the second half of their scrimmage, his fingers gripping gently on the place at the back of Cas’ neck.

 It was all Castiel could do not to start purring. The electricity that sparking from the area of his body where Dean was touching him was inconceivable. So of course he swallowed his pride, forgot his bruised-up knees and told him, “I’m fine. I’m having a great time.”

And it would have been true. For nearly an hour they ran plays, passed the ball. And Cas hung in the back, letting the other players take the lead while he watched the way Dean moved with grace and precision. 

Until the ball ended up between his feet. Two guys-- Benny? Garth?-- started yelling at him to move, go, make a break for it. 

He ended up flat on his face on the astroturf. He was scuffed up and embarrassed. He thought he heard laughter from above him-- one voice, or two, or five. It was the last straw for him, without a doubt.  

Cas took off running in the direction of the locker rooms. He couldn’t bare to be there anymore. Didn’t want to hear how Dean would no doubt be endlessly mocking him to his incredibly athletic companions. 

They would continue their game, bouncing balls off of their heads and between their knees. It was a mistake for Castiel to even be there. He never should have come to this stupid place. He never should have trusted Dean. 

When he reached the relative safety of the locker room, he retreated off into a corner. He needed a space, needed a minute, to just… to let himself…. 

 _To be okay with with the freakish, nerdy, loser you are,_ a dark voice said from the back of his mind. Before he knew it, Cas was sitting on the floor with his back against the cold metal of the lockers and his knees up to his chest. 

In the distance, the prolonged squeak of a wooden door could be heard. Cas held his breath. 

“Cas?”

It was Dean. 

“Cas, listen to me. I know you probably--” 

His voice was growing closer, and Castiel felt his heart racing in his chest. He didn’t want to see Dean now, he couldn’t, couldn’t let this whole thing get any worse than it was. He saw Dean’s face around the corner of a wall and he blurted out the first thing he could think to stop him in his tracks. 

“Why am I here?” 

Dean’s eyes went wide at the question, and fell to where Castiel was seated. He was silent. 

“Really, Dean, why me?” Cas continued, seeming to forget where he was and just who he was addressing, “If you wanted someone who can play sports with you and go to games and talk about statistics and generally not make a complete _ass_ out of themselves, you have a full stock of other people at this school available to you. People like you. And I’m sure they’d be happy for the chance to go out with you.”

Dean’s eye contact never faltered, but still his lips remained tightly sealed. Cas looked up at him and, _Jesus how embarrassing_ , he could feel hot tears brimming in his ducts, threatening to somehow make suffering through this date the single worst experience of his short, uneventful life. 

“Why do you need to change me? I’m not… I’m not one of those people. And I’m not going to be. I’m not good at soccer or baseball or anything like that. I like reading and writing and staying inside and not having bloody lips or bruised knees or….” He trailed off, huffing to himself. “You can’t make me into something else, so please stop trying.”

And, as if to show that his final shred of self-respect had, a single tear escaped from his eye and leaked slowly down Castiel’s cheek. He swabbed at his quickly with his sleeve, hoping that Dean didn’t have the chance to see it. He stood resolutely, eyes looking anywhere but Dean’s face. 

“I’m going to go now.” 

Just before Cas could turn his body away, Dean-- finally-- opened his mouth to speak. “I never wanted to change you. Jesus, I’m such a freakin’ idiot, I just…” He stopped here, bit his lip. He seemed to change tactics. “Our first date, I wanted to take you to a museum.”

Now it was Castiel’s turn to stay silent. His head fell to the side and he squinted curiously. 

“But then, I got so nervous. I just knew that we’d be walking around and you’d have all these smart things to say and I would choke and then you’d think I was like this idiot loser.”

That seemed nearly impossible to Castiel. 

Dean rambled on, his arms flailing wildly at his sides as he grew more worked up. “So then I decided to take you to do stuff that I’d be good at, so you could see me and maybe you’d be a little impressed or whatever and then you… you wouldn’t think those things.” He stared at the ground now. “I guess I never thought about how the situation might get reversed.”

 _Curious_ , Castiel thought to himself. How strange that someone like Dean, who excelled in all the places where he himself fell short, would identify with the same kind of self-doubt he felt. That was…. unexpected.

“I mean, shit man, what I really want to do with you is just hang out at my apartment, and we could both read a book or watch a movie and you could have your feet up on my lap or something and… it’d just be nice. Just being with you.”

Despite everything else, Cas still felt a touch of warmth rising on his neck, making his cheeks flush pink with embarrassment. There was nothing in the world he wanted more than exactly what Dean had just described. It just seemed too good to possibly be true…

“I’m sorry,” he heard Dean mutter under his breath. “I’m really sorry, Cas. I screwed everything up. I’m sure you don’t even wanna look me in the face anymore…” 

“I could do that,” Cas piped up.  

Dean’s face shot up until his eyes locked with Castiel’s. Cas felt a little nervous that it would be obvious that he’d cried, but if Dean noticed at all, he didn’t let on. He only stared open-mouthed at Castiel, waiting for him to go on. 

“I could read, I mean. On your couch. With you.”

Dean took a large step forward, which brought him very much inside Castiel’s personal space. “You would?” He asked incredulously. 

Cas faltered, Dean was so close now he could smell the sweat on his skin (and how good it smelled), “I-- I, yes.”

“You’d give me _another_ chance?” murmured Dean, his face now directly in front of Castiel’s.  

 _Twelve chances, twenty chances, however many you need_ , Castiel wanted to tell him, but he found himself unable to speak. Instead, he nodded dumbly, and Dean hovered inside his immediate area, intensely focused on the place just below Cas’ nose. 

He continued to lean in, puffing in and out little breaths on hot air onto Castiel’s skin. “Can I…. just, can I?” 

Again, words rushed to Castiel’s lips, only to die on his tongue before he could get them out. He was only halfway into another dumb nod when Dean pushed in to close the gap and Castiel found himself caught in the best and most important lip-lock of all time. 

It felt suddenly like he was feather-light, like he might float away from the joy of the moment. Dean wrapped his hand tightly around Cas’ waist and moved their lips together with such a delicate precision; it pulled some noises from Castiel that even he hadn’t known he was capable of making. 

He was being silly he knew, and overdramatic. It was completely unlike him. But for some reason, kissing Dean right then, it just turned him into a totally different person. And… he couldn’t help but think, maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. 

Dean retreated his lips, with Castiel chasing after them as he did, and leaned his forehead against Cas’. He expelled the smallest chuckle. “Man. I have been wanting to do that for so long.” 

“For so many bad dates,” Castiel corrected.

Dean laughed again. “Haha. You’re right.” He moved his hand from Cas’ waist, stroked it up and down the other boy’s arm until he finally wove his fingers between the ones he found waiting there. “How about we get out of here and have our first _good_ date?”

And Castiel was happy to report the next day, that not a single bodily fluid has been spilled in the course of their first ever successful date.

...well, not in the bad way, at least. 

\--

On their six-month anniversary, Castiel appeared at Dean’s door with a surprise. 

“Hello, my gorgeous boyfriend,” he was greeted at the door, with a lengthy kiss and the kind of smiles that Dean reserved just for him now. “Did you bring my present?”

“I did,” Castiel smiled in return, “and I think you’re really going to like it.”

Dean cocked an inquisitive eyebrow in his boyfriend’s direction. “And what exactly is it?”

From behind his back, Cas extracted two tickets and held them just out of Dean’s reach. “We’re going to a baseball game!” he proclaimed excitedly. 

It took about two seconds for all the color to drain from Dean’s face. And while Castiel really did enjoy having the kind of power to make Dean squirm, he could only hold out for so long.  

“Juuuust kidding. We’re going to the museum.” 

Dean grabbed the tickets out of his hand, trying his best to look annoyed while Castiel cracked a very self-assured grin. “You think you’re so freaking cute.”

“No, I don’t,” Cas countered. “But you do.”

Dean peered over at his boyfriend and chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. “Well, you’re not wrong,” he surmised at last. And even though Dean had spent the last six months thoroughly making up for the awful dates and the split lips, Castiel still thought that there was something so refreshing in knowing that someone so wonderful thought so highly of him. 

He shook himself out of his thoughts when he felt Dean taking him by the hand and proceeding to drag him toward the door. “Alright, let’s get a move on," he goaded, full of excitement. "This time, you get to see _me_ make an ass out of _myself_.”


End file.
